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She stunned the world (and herself) with Olympic bronze in Tokyo. Then life went sideways. How America’s unexpected marathon phenom is getting her body—and brain—back on track. 

On a clear December night in 2019, Molly Seidel was at a rooftop holiday party in Boston, wearing a black velvet dress, doing what a lot of 25-year-olds do: passing a joint between friends, wondering what she was doing with her life.

“You should run the Olympic Trials,” her sister, Izzy, said, as smoke swirled in the chilly air atop The Trackhouse, a retail shop and community hub on Newbury Street operated by the running brand Tracksmith. “That would be hilarious if you did that as your first marathon.” 

Molly, an elite 10K racer who’d spent much of 2019 injured, looked out at the city lights, and laughed. Why the hell not? She’d just qualified for the trials, winning the San Antonio Half with a time of 1:10:27. (“The shock of the century,” as she’d put it.) True, 13.1 miles wasn’t 26.2—but running a marathon was something to do. If only because she never had before. 

A four-time NCAA track and cross-country champion at The University of Notre Dame in Indiana, Molly had moved to Boston in 2017, where she’d worked three jobs to supplement her fourth: running for Saucony’s Freedom Track Club. The $34,000 a year that Saucony paid her (pre-tax, sans medical) didn’t go far in one of America’s most expensive cities. Chasing kids around as a babysitter, driving around as an Instacart shopper, and standing around eight hours a day as a barista—when you’re running 20 miles a day—wasn’t ideal. But whatever, she had compression socks. And she was downing free coffee and paying rent, flying to Flagstaff, Arizona, every so often for altitude camps, and having a good time. Doing what she loved. The only thing she’s ever wanted to do since she was a freckly fifth-grader in small-town Wisconsin clocking a six-minute mile in gym class. 

“I was hustling, and I loved it. It was such a fun, cool time of my life,” she says, summarizing her 20s. Staring into Molly’s steely brown eyes, listening to her speak with such clarity and conviction about her struggles since, it’s easy to forget: She is still only 29. 

After Molly had hip surgery on her birthday in July 2018, her doctors gave her a 50/50 chance of running professionally again. By summer 2019, she’d parted ways with FTC, which left her sobbing on the banks of the Charles River, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and uncertainty. Her biggest achievement lately had been being named #2 Top Instacart Shopper (in Flagstaff; Boston was big-time).

The day after that rooftop party, Molly asked her friend and former FTC teammate Jon Green, who she’d newly anointed as her coach: “Think I should run the marathon trials?” Sure, he shrugged. Nothing to lose. Maybe it’d help her train for the 10K, her best shot—they both thought—at making a U.S. Olympic team. 

“I’m going to get my ass kicked six ways to Sunday!” she told the host of the podcast Running On Om six weeks before the trials in Atlanta.

Instead, on February 29, 2020, she kicked some herself. Pushing past 448 of the fastest, most-experienced women marathoners in the country, coming in second with a 2:27:31, earning more in prize money ($60,000) than she had in two years of racing—and a spot on the U.S. trio for the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, along with Kenyan-born superstars Aliphine Tuliamuk and Sally Kipyego. “I don’t know what’s happening right now!” Molly kept saying into TV cameras, wrapped in an American flag, as stunned as a lottery winner. 

Saucony who? Puma came calling. Along with something Molly hadn’t anticipated: the spotlight. An onslaught of social media followers. And two weeks later, a global pandemic and lockdown—and all the anxiety and isolation that came with it. She was drowning, and she hadn’t even landed in Tokyo yet.

The 2020 Olympics, as we all know, were postponed to 2021. An emotional burden but a physical boon for Molly, in that it allowed her to get in a second marathon. In London, she finished two minutes faster than her debut. When the Olympics finally rolled around, she was ready. 

Before the race, Molly says, “I was thinking: ‘Once I cross the starting line, I get to call myself an Olympian and that’s a win for the day.’” 

But then she crossed the finish line—with a finger-kiss to the sky and a guttural Yesss!—in third place with a 2:27:46, just 26 seconds behind first (Kenya’s Peres Jepchirchir). And realized: She gets to call herself an Olympic medalist forever. Only the third American woman to ever earn one in the marathon.

Lots of kids have fleeting hopes of making it to the Olympics. I remember thinking I could be Mary Lou Retton. Maybe FloJo, with shorter fingernails. Then I decided I’d rather be Madonna or president of the United States and promptly forgot about it. But Molly held tight to her Olympic aspirations. She still has a poster she made in 2004, with stickers and a snapshot of her smiley 10-year-old self, to prove it. “I wish I will make it into the Olympics and win a gold medal,” she wrote, and signed it: Molly Seidel, the “y” looping back to underline her name. In case there was any doubt as to who, specifically, would be winning the medal.

Molly grew up in Nashotah, Wisconsin, and is the eldest of three. Her sister and brother, younger by not quite two years, are twins. Izzy is a running influencer and corporate content creator for companies like Peloton; and Fritz favors Formula 1 racing and weightlifting and works for the family’s leather-tanning business. The family was active, sporty. Dad, Fritz Sr., was a ski racer in college; Mom, Anne, a cheerleader. You can tell. Watching clips of Molly’s mom and dad watching the Olympic race from their backyard patio, jumping up and down, tears streaming, is the kind of life-affirming moment you wish you could bottle. “I’m in shock. I’m in disbelief,” Molly says into the mic, beaming. “I just wanted to come out today and I don’t know…stick my nose where it didn’t belong and see what I could come away with. And I guess that’s a medal.” When the interviewer holds up her family on FaceTime, Molly breaks down. “We did it,” she says into the screen between sobs and smiles. “Please drink a beer for me.

Molly hasn’t always been unabashedly herself, even when everyone thought she was. A compartmentalizer to the core, she spent most of her life hiding a huge part of it: anorexia, bulimia, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, debilitating depression. 

It started around age 11, when she learned to disguise OCD tendencies, like compulsively knocking on wood, silently reciting prayers “to avoid God getting mad at me,” she says. “It was a whole thing.” She says her parents were aware of the behaviors, but saw them more as odd little habits. “They had no reason to suspect anything. I was very high-functioning,” she says. “They didn’t realize that it was literally taking over my life.” 

She wasn’t officially diagnosed with OCD until her freshman year of college, when she saw a therapist for the first time. At Notre Dame, disordered eating took hold, quietly yet visibly, as it does for up to 62 percent of female college athletes, according to the National Eating Disorders Association. As recently as the Tokyo Olympics, she was making herself throw up in the airport bathroom, mere days before taking the podium. Molly hesitates to share that detail; she fears a girl might read this and interpret it as behavior to model. “Having been in that place as a younger athlete, I know I would have,” she says. But she also understands: Most people just don’t get how unrelenting eating disorders can be. 

In February 2022, she finally received a diagnosis of the root cause for all of it: ADHD. About being diagnosed, she says, “It made me feel really good, like [I don’t have] a million different disorders. I have a disorder that manifests itself in a lot of different symptoms.”

She waited to try Adderall until after the Boston Marathon in April, only to drop out at mile 16 due to a hip impingement. Initially, the meds made her feel fantastic. Focused. Free. Until she realized Adderall hurt more than it helped. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, lost too much weight. Within weeks, she devolved. “The eating disorder came roaring back,” she says, referring to it, as she often does, as its own entity, something that exists outside of herself. That ruthlessly takes control over her very need for control. “I almost think of it as an alter ego,” she explains. “Adderall was just bubblegum in the dam,” as she puts it. She ditched the drug, and her life—professionally, physically—unraveled.

In July 2022, heading into the World Championships, she bombed the mental health screening, answering the questions with brutal honesty. She’d been texting Keira D’Amato weeks prior. “Yo girl, things are pretty bad right now. Get ready…” Sobbing on the sidewalk in Eugene, Oregon, she texted D’Amato again. And the USATF made it official: D’Amato would take her spot on the team. Then Molly did what she’d been “putting off and putting off”— checked herself into eating disorder treatment for the second time since 2016, an outpatient program in Salt Lake City, where her new boyfriend was living at the time. 

Somehow (see: expert compartmentalizer) mid-meltdown, in February 2022, she had met an amateur ultrarunner named Matt, on Hinge. A quiet, lanky photographer, he didn’t totally get what she did. “I didn’t understand the gravity of it,” he tells me. “I was like, Oh she’s a pro runner, that’s cool. I didn’t realize she was, like, the pro runner!” 

Going back to treatment “was pretty terrible,” she says. At least she could stay with Matt. Hardly a honeymoon phase, but the new relationship held promise. “I laid it all out there,” says Molly. “And he was still here for it, for all the messiness. It was really meaningful.” And a mental shift. “He doesn’t see me as just Molly the Runner.”

Almost a year later, on a freezing April evening in Flagstaff, Molly is racing around Whole Foods, palming a head of cabbage, grabbing a thing of hummus, hunting for deals even though she doesn’t need to anymore. 

“It’s all about speed, efficiency, and quality,” she says, explaining the secret to her earlier Instacart success. She checks the expiration date on a container of goat cheese and beelines for the butcher counter, scans it faster than an Epson DS3000, though not without calculation, and requests two tomato-and-mozzarella-stuffed chicken breasts. Then she darts over to the beverage aisle in her marshmallow-y Puma slip-ons that Matt custom-painted with orange poppies. She grabs a case of La Croix (tangerine), then zips to the checkout. We’re in and out in under 15 minutes and 50 bucks, nothing bruised or broken.

Other than her body. Let’s just say: If Molly were an avocado or a carton of eggs, she probably wouldn’t pass her own sniff test. The week we meet, she is just coming off a month of no running. Not a single mile. She’s used to running twice a day, 130 miles a week. No wonder she’s spraying her kitchen counter with Mrs. Meyer’s and scrubbing the stovetop within minutes of welcoming me into her new home. 

The place, which she shares with Matt and his Australian border collie, Rye, has a post-college flophouse feel: a deep L-shaped couch draped in Pendleton blankets, a bar cluttered with bottles of discount wine, a floor lamp leaning like the Tower of Pisa next to a chew toy in the shape of a ranch dressing bottle. Scattered about, though, are reminders that an elite runner sleeps here. Or at least tries to. (“Pro runner by day, mild insomniac by night” reads the bio on her rarely used account on what used to be Twitter.) There’s a stick of Chafe Safe on the coffee table. Shalane Flanagan’s cookbooks on the counter. And framed in glass, propped on the office floor: Molly’s Olympic kit—blue racing briefs with the Nike Swoosh, a USA singlet, her once-sweat-drenched American flag, folded in a triangle. “I’m not sure where to hang it,” she says. “It seems a little ostentatious to have it in the living room.” 

With long brown curls and a round, freckly face, Molly has an aw-shucks look so innocent that it’s hard, at first, to perceive her struggles. Flat-out ask her, though—How are you even functioning?—and she’ll tell you: “I’m an absolute wreck. There’s no worse feeling than being a pro runner who can’t run. You just feel fucking useless.” Tidying a stack of newspapers, she adds, “Don’t worry, I’ve had therapy today.” 

She’s watched every show. (Save Ted Lasso, “too sickly sweet.”) Listened to every podcast. (Armchair Expert is a favorite.) She’s got nothing else to do but PT and go easy on the ElliptiGo in the garage, onto which she’s rigged a wooden bookstand, currently clipped with A History of God: The 4,000 Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. “I don’t read running books,” she says. “I need something different.”

Like most runners—even the most amateur among us—running, moving, is what keeps her sane. “What about swimming? Can you at least swim?” I ask, projecting my own desperation if I were in her size 8.5 shoes. “I fucking hate swimming,” says Molly. Walking? “Oh, yeah, I can go on walks. Another. Long. Walk.”

The only thing she has on her schedule this week is pumping up a local middle school track team before their big meet. The invitation boosted her spirits. “Should I just memorize Miracle on Ice?” she says, laughing. “No, I know, I’ll do Independence Day.”

Injuries are nothing new for Molly. Par for the course for any professional athlete. But especially for women, like her, who lack bone density—and have since high school, when, according to a study in the Orthopedic Journal of Sports Medicine, nearly half of female runners experience period loss. Osteoporosis and its precursor, osteopenia, are rampant in female runners, leading to ongoing issues that threaten not just their college and professional running careers, but their lives.

Still, Molly admits, laughing: She’s especially accident-prone. I ask her to list every scratch she’s ever had, which takes her 10 minutes, and goes all the way back to babyhood, when she banged her head against the bathtub spout. There was a cracked spine from a sledding incident in 8th grade, a broken collarbone from a ski race in high school, shredded knee cartilage in college when a driver hit her while she was riding a bike. “Ribs are constantly breaking,” she says. In 2021, two snapped, and refused to heal in time for the New York City Marathon. No biggie. She ran through the pain with a 2:24:42, besting Deena Kastor’s 2008 time by more than a minute and setting the American course record.

Molly’s latest injury? Glute tear. “Literally a gigantic pain in the ass,” she posted on Instagram in March. Inside, Molly was devastated. Pulling out of the Nagoya Marathon—the night before her 6:45 a.m. flight to Japan, no less—was not in the plan. The plan, according to Coach Green, had been simple. It always is. If the two of them even have one. “Just to have fun and be consistent.” And get a marathon or two in before the Olympic Trials in February 2024. 

She’d been finally—finally—fit on all fronts; ready to race, ready to return. She needed Nagoya. And then, nothing. “It feels like I’m back at the bottom of the well,” says Molly, driving home from Whole Foods in her Toyota 4Runner. “This last year-and-a-half has been so difficult. It’s just been a lot of doubt. How do I approach this, as someone who has now won a medal? Like, man, am I even relevant in this sport anymore?” She pops a piece of gum in her mouth. I wait for her to offer me some, because that’s what you do with gum, but she doesn’t. She’s so in her head. “It’s hard when you’re in the thick of it, you know, to figure out: Why the fuck do I keep doing this? When it just breaks my heart over and over and over again?” 

We pull into her driveway. “I was prepared for the low period after Tokyo,” she says. “But this has been much longer and lower than I expected.” 

The curse of making it to the Olympics, let alone coming back with a medal: expectations. Molly’s own were high. “I think I thought, after the Olympics, if I win a medal, then I will be fixed, it will fix everything.” Instead, in a way, it made everything worse. 

That’s the problem that has plagued Molly for most of her running career: Her triumphs and troubles intermingle, like thunder and lightning. Which, by the way, she has been struck by. (A minor backyard-grill, summer-thunderstorm incident. She was fine.)

The next morning in Flagstaff, Molly’s feeling like she can run a mile, maybe two. It’s snowing, though, and she doesn’t want to risk the slippery track, so we meet at Campbell Mesa Trails. She loops a band around the back of her truck to stretch and sends me off into the trees to run alone while she does a couple of laps on the street.

Molly leaves for an acupuncture appointment, and we reunite later at Single Speed Coffee (“the best coffee in Flagstaff,” promises the ex-barista who drinks up to three cups a day). We curl up on a couch like it’s her living room, and she talks as freely—and as loudly—as if it was. Does she realize everyone can hear her? She doesn’t care. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve grown so comfortable sharing—in therapy, on podcasts, in a three-part video series on ADHD for WebMD—you just…share. Loud and proud. 

Mental illness is so insidious, says Molly. “It’s not always this Sylvia Plath stick-my-head-in-a-fucking-oven thing, where you’re sad all the time,” she says. “High-functioning depressed people live normal successful lives. I can be having the happiest moment, and three days later I’m in a total downward spiral.” It’s something you never recover from, she says, but you learn to manage. 

“I’m this incredibly flawed person who struggles so much. I think: How could I have won this thing when I’m so flawed? I look at all the people around me, all these accomplished people who have their shit together, and I’m like, ‘one of these things is not like the other,’” she says, taking a sip of her flat white. “I was literally in the Olympic Village thinking: Everybody is probably looking at me wondering: Why the hell is she here?” 

They weren’t. They don’t. She knows that. 

And yet her mind races as fast as she does. It takes up So. Much. Space. When she’s running, though, the noise disappears. She’s not Olympic Molly or Eating Disorder Molly, she’s not even, really, Runner Molly. “When I’m running,” she says, “I’m the most authentic version of myself.” 

Talking helps, too. Molly first shared her mental health history a few years ago, “before she was famous,” as she puts it. After the Olympics, though, she kept talking and hasn’t stopped. The Tokyo Games were a turning point, she says. Suddenly the most revered athletes in the world were opening up about their mental health. Molly credits Simone Biles’s bravery for her own. If Biles, and Michael Phelps and Naomi Osaka, could come clean... then maybe a nerdy, niche-y, unlikely medaling marathoner could, too.

“Those guys got a lot more shit for it than I did,” says Molly. “I got off easy. I’m not a household name,” she laughs. She knows she can be candid and off the cuff—and chat freely in a not-empty café—in a way Biles never could. “I’m a nobody!” she laughs.

Still, a nobody with 232,000 Instagram followers whom she has touched in very IRL ways—becoming an unintentional poster woman for normalizing mental health challenges among athletes. “You are such an incredible inspiration,” @1percentpeterson posts, one comment of a zillion similar. “It’s ok to not be ok!” says another. Along with all the online love is, of course, online hate. Molly rattles off a few lowlights: “She’s an attention-seeking whore,” “Her bones are so brittle she’ll never race again,” “She’s running so badly and posting a lot she should really focus on her running more.” Molly finds it curious. “I’m like, ‘If you hate me, you don’t need to follow me, sir.’” 

It’s Molly’s nobody-ness—what Outside writer Martin Fritz Huber called her “runner-next-door” persona, and I’ll just call “genuine personality”—that has made her somebody in running’s otherwise reserved circles. 

Somebody who (gasp!) high-fives her sister in the middle of a major race, as she did at mile 18 of the 2021 New York City Marathon. “They shat on me in the broadcast for it,” she says. “They were like, ‘She’s not taking this seriously.’” (Except, uh, then she set the American course record, so…) 

Somebody who, obviously, swears like a sailor and dances awkwardly on Instagram, who dresses up like a turkey, and viral-tweets about getting mansplained on an airplane. (“He starts telling me how I need to train high mileage & pulls up an analysis he’d made of a pro runner’s training on his phone. The pro runner was me. It was my training. Didn’t have the heart to tell him.”)

Somebody who makes every middle-aged mom-runner I know swoon like a Swiftie and say: “OMG! YOU HUNG OUT WITH MOLLY SEIDEL!!?” Middle-aged dad-runners, too. “I saw her once in Golden Gate Park!” my friend Dan fanboyed when he heard. “I waved!” Did she wave back? “She smiled,” he says, “while casually laying down 5:25s.”

And somebody who was as outraged as I was that I bought a $16 tube of French toothpaste from my hip Flagstaff motel. (It was 10 p.m.! It was all they had!) “For that price it better contain top-shelf cocaine,” she texted. Lest LetsRun commenters take that tidbit out of context: It’s a joke. It’s, in part, what makes Molly America’s most relatable pro runner: She’s not afraid to make jokes. (While we’re at it… Don’t knock her for smoking a little legal weed, either. That’s so 2009. Per the World Anti-Doping Agency: Cannabis is prohibited during competition, not at a Christmas party two months before it. Per Molly: “People would be shocked to know how many pro runners smoke weed.”)

I can’t believe I never asked to see it. Molly’s medal. A real, live Olympic medal. Maybe because it was tucked into a credenza along with Matt’s menorah and her maneki-neko cat figurines from Japan. But I think it was because hanging out with Molly felt so…normal, I almost forgot she’d won one. 

People think elite distance runners have to be one-dimensional, she says. That they have to be sculpted, single-minded, running-only robots. “Because that’s what the sport has been,” she says. 

Molly falls for it, too, she says. She scrolls the feeds, sees her fellow pros living seemingly perfect lives. She wants everyone to know: She’s not. So much so that she requested we not print the photos originally commissioned for this story, which were taken when she was at the lowest of lows. (“It’s been...refreshing...to be pretty open and real with Rachel [about] the challenges of the last year,” she wrote in an email to Runner’s World editors. “But the photos [were taken at] a time when I was really struggling and actively trying to hide how bad my eating disorder had become.”)

Molly finds the NYC Marathon high-five thing comical but indicative of a more serious issue in elite running: It takes itself too seriously. It’s too…elitist. Too stilted. “Running a marathon is a pretty freaking cool experience!” If you’re not having fun, she asks rhetorically, what’s the point? Still, she admits, she isn’t always having fun. Though you wouldn’t know it from her Instagram. “Oh, I’m very good at making it seem like I am,” she says.

She used to enjoy social media when it was just her friends. Before she gained 50,000 followers in a single day after the trials, and some 70,000 on Strava. Before the pandemic, before the Olympics. Keeping up with content became a toxic chore. “You feel like you’re just feeding this beast and it’s never going to stop,” she says. She’s taken to deleting the app off her phone, reloading it only to fulfill contractual agreements and post for her sponsors, then deleting it again. 

As much as she hates having to post, she enjoys plugging products the only way that feels natural: through parody. As does Izzy, her influencer sister, who, like Molly, prefers to skewer rather than shill (à la their idea behind their joint Insta account: @sadgirltrackclub). “The classic influencer tropes make me want to throw up,” she says (perverse pun as a recovering bulimic not intended). “New Gear Drop!’ or ‘This is my Outfit of the Day!’ Cringe. “Hot Girl Instagram is not how I identify,” she says. 

Nor is TikTok. “Sponsors tell me all the time: You should TikTok! I’m like, ‘I am not doing TikTok.’ I know how my brain works. They’ll say, ‘We’ll pay you less if you don’t’—and I’m, like, I don’t care.”

And to those sponsors who ghosted her after she returned to eating disorder treatment, good riddance. “Michelob dropped me like a bad habit,” she says. “Whatever. You have watery-ass beer anyway.”

To those who have stood by her, though, she’s utterly devoted. Pissed she couldn’t wear the Puma panther head to toe in Tokyo, Molly took off her Puma Deviate Elites and tied them over her shoulder, obscuring the Nike logo on her Olympic singlet for all the world to see. Or not see. “Nike isn’t paying my fucking bills.”

The love is mutual, says Erin Longin, a general manager at Puma. After decades backing legends like Usain Bolt, Puma was relaunching road running and wanted Molly as their guinea pig. “She’s a serious athlete and competitor, but she also has fun with it,” says Longin. “Running should be fun. Molly embodies that.” At their first meeting, in January 2020, Molly made them laugh and nerded out over their new shoes. “We all left there, fingers crossed she’d sign with us,” says Longin.

Come February, they all flipped out. Longin was watching the trials, not expecting much. And then: “We were all messaging, “OMG!!” Then Molly killed in London. Medaled in Tokyo. “What she did for us in that first year…” says Longin. “We couldn’t have planned it!” 

Then came the second year, and the third, and throughout it all—injuries, eating disorder treatment, missed races, missed opportunities—Puma hasn’t flinched. “It’s easy for a company to do the right thing when everything is going great,” Molly posted in April, heartbroken from her couch instead of Heartbreak Hill. “But it’s when the sh*t hits the fan and they’re still right there with you….” She received 35,000 hearts—and a call from Longin: “You make me feel so proud.” 

Does it matter to Puma if Molly never places—never races—again? “Nope,” Longin says. 

My last afternoon in Flagstaff, it’s cloudy skies, still freezing. I find Molly on the high school track wearing neoprene gloves, black puffy coat, another pair of Pumas. Her breath is white, her cheeks red. Her legs churning in even, elegant strides. Upright, alone, at peace, backed by snow-dusted peaks. Running itself is what matters, not racing, she tells me. “I honestly don’t give a shit about winning,” she says. All she wants—really wants, she says—is to be healthy enough to run until she’s old and gray.

Molly’s favorite runner is one who didn’t get to grow old. Who made his mark decades before she was born: Steve Prefontaine. “Pre raced in such a genuine way. He made people feel something,” she says. “The sports performances you truly remember,” she adds, “are the ones where you see the struggle, the work, the realness.” 

Sounds familiar. “I hate conversations like, ‘Who’s the GOAT?’” Molly continues. “Who fucking cares? Who’s got the story that’s going to get people excited? That’s going to make some kid want to go out and do it?” 

I know one of those kids: My best friend’s daughter, Quinn, a rising track phenom in Oregon, who has dealt with anxiety and OCD tendencies. She has a picture of Molly Seidel, and her times, taped to her bedroom wall. This past May, Quinn joined Nike’s Bowerman Club. She was named Oregon Female Athlete of the Year Under 12 by USATF. She wants to run for Notre Dame. 

“Quinn loves running more than anything,” her mom tells me, texting photos of her elated 11-year-old atop the podium. “But I don’t know…” She’s unsure about setting her daughter on this path. How could she not, though? It’s all Quinn wants to do. Maybe what Quinn, too, feels born to do. 

It’ll be okay, I tell her, I hope. Quinn has something Molly never had: She has a Molly. 

Molly and I catch up via phone in June. A team of doctors in Germany has overhauled her biomechanics. She’s been running 110 miles a week, feeling healthy, hopeful. Happy. A month later, severe anemia (and accompanying iron infusions) interrupts her summer racing schedule. She cancels the couple of 10Ks she had planned and entertains herself by popping into the UTMB Speedgoat Mountain Race: a 28K trail run through Utah’s Little Cottonwood Canyon—coming in second with a 3:49:58. Molly’s focus is on the Chicago Marathon, October 8th; her first major race in almost two years. 

Does it matter how she does? Does it matter if she slays the Olympic Trials in February? If she makes it to Paris 2024? If she fulfills her childhood dream and brings home gold? 

Nah. Not if—like Matt, like Puma, like, finally, even Molly herself—you see Molly the Runner for who she really is: Molly the Mere Mortal. She’s the imperfect one who puts it perfectly: What matters isn’t her time or place, how she performs on the pavement. Or social media posts. What matters—as a professional athlete, as a person—is how she makes people feel: human. 

 

She’d been finally—finally—fit on all fronts; ready to race, ready to return. She needed Nagoya. And then, nothing. “It feels like I’m back at the bottom of the well,” says Molly, driving home from Whole Foods in her Toyota 4Runner. “This last year-and-a-half has been so difficult. It’s just been a lot of doubt. How do I approach this, as someone who has now won a medal? Like, man, am I even relevant in this sport anymore?” She pops a piece of gum in her mouth. I wait for her to offer me some, because that’s what you do with gum, but she doesn’t. She’s so in her head. “It’s hard when you’re in the thick of it, you know, to figure out: Why the fuck do I keep doing this? When it just breaks my heart over and over and over again?” 

Some victories are measured by finish times. Others are defined by the obstacles overcome simply to reach the starting line.

For American Paralympic swimmer Ali Truwit, completing the New York City Marathon represented far more than covering 26.2 miles. It was the culmination of an extraordinary journey of survival, resilience, and unwavering determination that began with a life-altering shark attack just two years earlier.

On a crisp November morning in 2025, Truwit crossed the iconic finish line wearing a carbon-fibre running blade, fulfilling a promise she had made while recovering in a hospital bed after losing her lower left leg. The emotional milestone marked another remarkable chapter in one of the most inspiring comeback stories in modern sport.

The road to that unforgettable finish began only days after Truwit celebrated a major personal achievement. In May 2023, she completed her first marathon in Copenhagen alongside her mother. Just ten days later, while enjoying a graduation trip to Turks and Caicos with former Yale swimming teammate Sophie Pilkinton, tragedy struck.

While the pair were snorkelling, a shark attacked Truwit, severely injuring her left leg. Displaying remarkable courage, the two swam approximately 55 metres back to their boat, where Pilkinton—then a medical student—quickly applied a tourniquet that stopped the bleeding and ultimately saved Truwit's life.

Doctors were forced to amputate her lower left leg on her 23rd birthday.

Even in the darkest moments of recovery, Truwit's determination never disappeared. Reflecting on having recently completed her first marathon, she joked with one of the first responders that at least she had managed to run a marathon before the attack. The responder's simple but powerful reply would remain with her throughout rehabilitation: "You'll run another one."

Those words became a source of hope during the long and demanding road back.

Only weeks after surgery, Truwit began learning to walk on a prosthetic limb before gradually returning to the swimming pool. The process was anything but straightforward. The water that had once been her sanctuary became a source of painful memories, yet she refused to allow fear to define her future.

Her relentless work ethic soon produced extraordinary results.

Less than 16 months after the attack, Truwit represented the United States at the Paris 2024 Paralympic Games, producing a sensational performance to claim both silver and bronze medals. Standing on the Paralympic podium was a powerful reminder of how far she had come in such a short period, and she dedicated those achievements to everyone who had helped save her life.

Still, another dream remained unfinished.

The New York City Marathon carried deep personal significance. It was not merely another endurance event but a symbolic return to the city where her life had changed forever. On November 2, 2025, she lined up in Staten Island accompanied by 13 family members and close friends, all proudly representing her nonprofit foundation, Stronger Than You Think. Among them was Pilkinton, the friend whose quick thinking had preserved her life on that unforgettable day in the Caribbean.

Together, they covered every mile of the marathon before celebrating an emotional finish that Truwit later described as being "over the moon."

Completing a marathon on a carbon-fibre running blade presents challenges far beyond those faced by able-bodied runners. The prosthetic demands greater strength from the hips, core, and remaining leg while requiring exceptional balance, coordination, and endurance. Truwit's preparation combined months of disciplined training, patience, and mental resilience as she effectively taught herself how to run again.

Her story extends well beyond medals and marathon finishes.

Inspired by her own recovery, Truwit founded Stronger Than You Think, a nonprofit organisation dedicated to helping individuals overcome physical and financial barriers following limb loss. Recognising that sports prosthetics can cost tens of thousands of dollars and are often not covered by insurance, the foundation provides financial assistance for prosthetic devices, supports water-safety education, and promotes opportunities within Paralympic sport.

The organisation has already helped provide more than 11 prosthetic limbs, delivered nearly $200,000 in direct support, and funded over 4,000 hours of water-safety lessons benefiting more than 700 young people.

Throughout her journey, Truwit has remained refreshingly honest about the emotional challenges that continue to accompany recovery. She has openly acknowledged that healing is an ongoing process and that grief can still come in waves. Rather than portraying an effortless comeback, she has demonstrated that resilience is built through persistence, even on the hardest days.

Her remarkable transformation resonates far beyond elite sport. While few people will ever experience the trauma she endured, countless runners and athletes understand the frustration of injury, disappointment, or rebuilding after adversity. Truwit's journey serves as a powerful reminder that recovery is rarely linear and that courage is often measured by the willingness to keep moving forward despite uncertainty.

Now looking ahead to the Los Angeles 2028 Paralympic Games, Truwit continues to redefine what is possible. She is no longer known simply as the swimmer who survived a shark attack. She has become a Paralympic medallist, marathon finisher, advocate, and symbol of resilience whose story continues to inspire athletes around the world.

Her journey proves that while life can change in an instant, so too can the strength of the human spirit. Sometimes the greatest triumph is not returning to the person you once were, but discovering someone even stronger than you ever imagined possible.

Sprint and hurdles superstar Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone has entered an exciting new chapter in her remarkable life, welcoming her first child with husband Andre Levrone. The four-time Olympic champion and women's 400m hurdles world record holder announced the birth of their daughter, Savannah Michelle Levrone, who was born on Sunday, July 12, 2026.

The couple shared the joyful news with an emotional message celebrating the arrival of their daughter and expressing gratitude to everyone who supported them throughout the pregnancy. Sydney described Savannah as "our blessing and our joy," while expressing excitement and faith for the future that lies ahead for their growing family.

The announcement marks a deeply personal milestone for one of the most accomplished athletes of her generation. Renowned for redefining the women's 400m hurdles through a succession of record-breaking performances, McLaughlin-Levrone now embraces a new role beyond the track as a mother.

The timing of the announcement adds another layer of significance. Just days earlier, Sydney reflected on the 10th anniversary of qualifying for her first Olympic Games at only 16 years old—a breakthrough that launched one of the most decorated careers in modern athletics. Ten years later, her journey has come full circle with another life-changing milestone, underscoring that her greatest moments continue to extend beyond sporting success.

The arrival of Savannah Michelle Levrone has been met with an outpouring of congratulations from athletes, fans, and the wider sporting community, who have celebrated the couple as they begin this new chapter together. As Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone steps into motherhood, the athletics world will undoubtedly continue to follow her inspiring journey—both on and off the track.

Ethiopia's Tsige Gebreselama produced one of the standout road running performances of the season on Sunday, storming to victory at the prestigious Boilermaker Road Race 15K in Utica, New York, with a sensational course record of 47:29.

From the opening kilometers, Gebreselama controlled the race with remarkable composure and precision, maintaining a relentless pace that ultimately erased the previous course record and secured one of the fastest performances ever recorded on the historic course. Her commanding display further reinforced her reputation as one of the world's leading road and distance runners.

The Ethiopian celebration continued as Melknat Wudu crossed the finish line in second place in 47:44, completing a dominant one-two finish for her country. Kenya's Priscah Cherono claimed third in 48:14 after a determined effort, rounding out a world-class podium in a race featuring some of the finest distance runners on the international circuit.

The battle behind the podium remained fiercely competitive. Kenya's Everlyn Kemboi finished fourth in 48:28, narrowly ahead of compatriot Selah Busienei, who clocked 48:31 for fifth. Ethiopia's Netsanet Desta and Alem Nigus Tsadik followed in sixth and seventh respectively, while Kenya's Mercy Cherono secured eighth place.

American athletes also delivered encouraging performances on home roads. Veteran Stephanie Bruce finished ninth in 50:40, with Jackie Gaughan completing the top ten in 51:02 to cap a strong showing for the host nation.

Boilermaker Road Race 15K – Women's Top 10 Results

1. Tsige Gebreselama (Ethiopia) – 47:29 (Course Record)

2. Melknat Wudu (Ethiopia) – 47:44

3. Priscah Cherono (Kenya) – 48:14

4. Everlyn Kemboi (Kenya) – 48:28

5. Selah Busienei (Kenya) – 48:31

6. Netsanet Desta (Ethiopia) – 48:46

7. Alem Nigus Tsadik (Ethiopia) – 48:48

8. Mercy Cherono (Kenya) – 50:23

9. Stephanie Bruce (United States) – 50:40

10. Jackie Gaughan (United States) – 51:02

The women's race combined exceptional depth with remarkable speed, as several athletes broke the 49-minute barrier in a contest that showcased the global strength of elite road running. Gebreselama's record-breaking run now stands as a new benchmark in the rich history of the Boilermaker 15K, adding another memorable chapter to one of the United States' most celebrated road races.

Kenya's Alex Matata delivered a sensational performance to claim the men's title at the prestigious Boilermaker Road Race 15K in Utica, New York, producing a dominant run that underlined his growing reputation as one of the world's finest road racers.

Matata surged to victory in an outstanding time of 42:24, mastering the demanding course with a display of strength, speed, and tactical brilliance. His commanding performance secured a memorable triumph in one of the United States' most celebrated road races, adding another significant international victory to his career.

Kenya's success was further highlighted by Kiprono Sitonik, who produced an equally impressive run to finish second in 42:53, completing a remarkable one-two finish for the East African nation. South Africa's Adam Lipschitz rounded out the podium after clocking 43:14 to claim third place following a determined effort.

The race featured a highly competitive international field, with American athletes Reid Buchanan and Hillary Bor finishing fourth and fifth respectively, while another Kenyan, Victor Shitsama, added to his country's strong showing by taking sixth place.

Matata's victory once again showcased Kenya's enduring strength in global road racing, as its athletes continued to dominate major international competitions through exceptional endurance, tactical awareness, and relentless finishing speed. His performance in Utica not only thrilled the spectators lining the streets but also reinforced the depth of Kenyan distance running on the world stage.

Men's Top 10 Results – Boilermaker Road Race 15K

1. Alex Matata (Kenya) – 42:24

2. Kiprono Sitonik (Kenya) – 42:53

3. Adam Lipschitz (South Africa) – 43:14

4. Reid Buchanan (United States) – 43:38

5. Hillary Bor (United States) – 43:40

6. Victor Shitsama (Kenya) – 44:02

7. Futsum Zienasellassie (United States) – 44:32

8. Charlie Sweeney (United States) – 44:37

9. Sam Lawler (United States) – 44:54

10. Tyler Berg (United States) – 45:08

With another major road racing title added to his résumé, Alex Matata continued his impressive 2026 campaign while reinforcing his status as one of the leading names on the international road racing circuit. The Boilermaker 15K once again delivered a high-quality contest, with athletes from across the globe producing memorable performances in one of the United States' most prestigious road races.

Eliud Kipchoge's remarkable World Tour continued on Brazilian soil as the Kenyan marathon icon completed the New Balance 42K Porto Alegre Marathon, crossing the finish line in 2:18:39 to place 12th overall during the second stop of his ambitious seven-continent global running tour.

Competing against a strong international field, the two-time Olympic marathon champion displayed the resilience and determination that have defined his legendary career. While the result was not among the victories that have made him one of the greatest marathon runners in history, Kipchoge once again demonstrated the unwavering commitment that continues to inspire athletes and fans across the globe.

Morocco's Zineddine Ouria claimed victory in a superb 2:08:49, with Kipchoge finishing 9 minutes and 50 seconds behind the race winner after navigating the demanding course in Porto Alegre.

Kipchoge began the race with controlled and confident pacing, reaching 5km in 15:34 before passing the halfway mark in 1:05:07. As the race entered its decisive stages, the pace gradually slowed, but the veteran marathoner pressed on with characteristic determination, completing the 42.195-kilometre challenge in 2:18:39.

For many, the story will be told through the finishing position. But for those who truly understand greatness, this journey is about far more than medals, records, or podium finishes. Kipchoge's World Tour is a celebration of the sport itself—an opportunity to connect with runners across every continent, inspire the next generation, and continue living by the philosophy that has become synonymous with his career: "No Human Is Limited."

The Brazilian appearance also carried added significance, coming shortly after Kipchoge was permanently honoured in Porto Alegre with his footprints unveiled at the entrance of Parque Harmonia—a lasting tribute to his extraordinary impact on distance running and his enduring legacy in the sport.

Once a champion. Forever an inspiration. Legends do not stop inspiring when the victories become fewer; they inspire because they never stop showing up. Through every stride, every finish line, and every challenge embraced, Kipchoge continues to prove that true greatness is measured not only by what an athlete wins, but by the lives they touch along the way.

With the second stop of his World Tour now complete, Kipchoge will turn his attention to the next chapter of his global adventure when he lines up at the Melbourne Marathon in Australia this October. Wherever he races, millions will once again follow the journey of a man whose legacy extends far beyond the stopwatch.